


Carrying On

by jncar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domesticity, F/M, Smuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Killian spend their first night together after vanquishing the Snow Queen. A bit of angst-tinged tender, emotional smuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrying On

**Author's Note:**

> I played around with point of view on this one, opting for a sort of omniscient narrative that I rarely touch, but it seemed to fit the piece. Very slightly influenced by filming spoilers.

They surprise no one, least of all themselves, when they make their escape to Killian's room at Granny's and fall eager and ready into the tangle of each other's bodies.

Ingrid is vanquished, her spell broken. Words of love have been spoken aloud—not just to each other, but for witnesses to hear—and acts of love have spoken even louder.

Everyone knew this was coming. No one will look for them. At least, not tonight.

~ ~ ~

Their first joining is rough and fast, born of need and passion. Clothes are ripped and heaped on the floor. Hair is pulled. Knees knock awkward against ribs and hip. But still they both sigh with contentment when their bodies come together.

They are one, and at last they are at peace.

~ ~ ~

She rests her head on his chest, tracing the tip of her finger through the maze of hair on his body, wondering when she started wanting this. How long has this been coming? (Since Neverland, at least. Though, when she's fully honest with herself, she'll admit that she felt the first rush of attraction and lust when they reached the top of that damn bean stalk so long ago.)

He cradles the curve of her back in his truncated arm and caresses the line of her shoulder and arm with his hand. He'd have waited another hundred years for this, if need be. It would have been worth it. (Though, he thinks, the wait would've had an extremely deleterious effect on his performance.)

~ ~ ~

"So, what do we do now?" Her voice breaks the comfortable silence. Or not so comfortable if the tone of her voice is anything to go by. (Is his presence not enough? Will this not be enough for her? He's never deserved her—that much is certain—but…? He reins in his mind. No. This moment needs to be about _her_. His paranoia can wait.)

"Well—if you're hungry or thirsty I could pop down below and fetch you something from the diner. It'd be my pleasure," he suggests, thinking that might be what she means. Though she's a restless sort, his Swan. Perhaps she'd rather be up and about?

She shakes her head. "No. I'm good. And that's not really what I meant. I just… I've never been in Storybrooke when there wasn't something going wrong. A curse, a custody battle, a villain, whatever. There's always been something. And right now, there's nothing. Just normal life. Or as normal as a town of story book characters can ever be. So what do we do?"

"Ah," he replies, and she can tell by the tone of his voice that he truly didn't understand. But now he does. (Being in love doesn't mean being able to read minds, she reminds herself. She'll have a lot to get used to in this whole "loving relationship" thing. She's bound to screw it up somehow. Thank God Killian seems to have boundless patience, where she's concerned. Though she's sure she'll test it.)

"Well," he says, after a moment's pause. "I suppose we just carry on living and see what comes."

She nods slightly against his chest and squeezes her lips together. She rests her palm flat against his skin, anchoring herself to his steady presence. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I guess that's the part I worry about. What might come next? And if nothing comes, how might I screw things up in the meantime?"

He can feel her insecurities reverberating through his core. He feels them, too. They've both been alone for most of their lives. And now, they are not. They're part of a team. A family. And he dreads ruining it just as much as she seems to.

The Snow Queen's spell laid the inner darkness of everyone in town bare to be seen. He knows Emma through and through, now, just as she knows him. They've seen the worst. And they made it through.

If they can still love each other after that—(His heart still leaps at the memory of her confession. It probably always will.)—then they can probably manage bloody near anything.

"We'll muddle through, somehow, darling," he says, rubbing her back gently. 

She takes a deep breath, her lungs filling with his scent, and snuggles tighter against his side. It feels so good to be held like this. To be comforted. To be loved.

Her year in New York was good. Very good. But something was always missing—even with Walsh. 

Now she knows what it is. Now she's found it. And she's not letting it go without a fight.

"Yeah. We will," she replies, hoping that he understands. Hoping that he knows how much this—how much _he_ —really means to her.

~ ~ ~

The second time they make love they move with luxurious care and attention. Learning each other's bodies, and each other's responses. They finally have time.

~ ~ ~

It is night, and darkness has crept into the room like a creature with silent padded paws, held at bay by the ancient nightstand lamp with only one of its two bulbs working.

"She'll never love me the way she loves Neal," Emma murmurs into his shoulder, with his arm wrapped around her. "I don't hold it against her. I understand. She just _can't_. But it still hurts."

Somehow the topic of her parents has come up, though Killian can't quite remember why. He wishes she didn't need to dissect these relationships now (during their first time alone together—their first time sharing a bed), but he understands. He won't stop her. The Snow Queen's spell illuminated more darkness than just his, and Emma hasn't finished processing that yet. She wanted to believe that her parents were all good, and the "villains," all bad, but things are never really that simple. He knows that better than most.

"Your parents aren't perfect, no matter how nice it would be if they were," he says, hoping that he's not coming across as patronizing.

"I know. I don't really expect them to be." Emma sighs. "But… Mary Margaret used to be my best friend, back before I broke the original curse. And then she got her memories back, and things changed. And they never changed back."

Killian nods and holds her a little tighter. "You miss your friend. I'm sorry, love." He strokes her hair, and she closes her eyes. She knew he he'd understand, once she explained. He nearly always does. That's one of the reasons why she fell in love with him.

She smiles and lifts her head to meet his eyes. She's always loved his eyes—even before she realized she loved the rest of him, too. "I do miss her. But maybe if I learn to be patient we'll figure out how to be friends again, someday. Now that we have time." Now that they have all the time in the world. God, as scary as that is, she's really starting to like the idea.

He smiles back—that smile that still makes her heart flip every time she sees it. "I do hope so. I'd hate for you to the be the fourth wheel whenever we're hanging 'round your parents. You _do_ know they adore me, don't you?"

Emma can't help but grin. His teasing always saves her from falling into her endless pit of morose self-pity. "You're an idiot, you know," she teases back.

He smirks. "Aye. But I'm _your_ idiot."

His words manage to make her heart flip in her chest yet again. "Yeah. You are." She pauses, savoring the moment. "I love you."

He'll never get sick of hearing those words. Never, ever. "I love you, too."

Then she kisses him—soft and sweet and full of tenderness. He'll never get sick of _that_ , either.

~ ~ ~

The third time they make love is perfect. The fourth is even better.

~ ~ ~

Once morning's insistent rays grow too bright to ignore, they drag themselves out of bed to wash and dress. Life carries on, even when they'd rather freeze it for a spell. (But they've both had enough of _freezing_. It's time to _live_ instead.)

While she brushes her hair in front of the vanity, Emma notices Killian sitting on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. She hesitates for a moment, knowing that this is a sore point for him. But it's time they started dealing with their old scars _together_. They have a matching set, after all.

She sets down her brush and resolutely moves toward him. "Here. Let me help." She sits beside him and takes over the buttoning.

He frowns. He doesn't need to be coddled. He's been buttoning his own shirts since he was just a lad not yet thirty years of age. But when he sees the soft look on her face, he holds his tongue.

He doesn't need to be coddled, but that's not what this is, is it?

He swallows hard before speaking, and raises his stump arm a little. "You don't mind, do you? This?" He waves the stump a little in emphasis and holds his breath.

Emma frowns and scrunches her forehead as if she can't believe he'd even ask such a thing. Perhaps she can't. (The thought boggles his mind.)

"Of course not," she says. Then she smiles a little. "You can do more with one hand than most men can with two."

He grins at that one. "And don't you know it."

Emma grins back at him. She can see the fear behind his bravado. The deep-rooted sense of inadequacy. She knows exactly how he feels.

She takes a deep breath. "No more deals with Gold, okay?" She knows what drove him to it, and at times she almost blames herself for not showing him sooner how little his disability troubles her. And for not realizing how much it troubles _him_.

He smiles and sighs. "No—I'll not be going to the Dark One again. I've finally learned that lesson."

"Good," she replies.

She's used a teasing tone throughout their talk, but he can see in her eyes just how serious she is. He knows full well how deeply he botched things when he tried to blackmail Rumple. But he's a man who rarely makes the same mistake twice. Though, he can't help but miss that second hand when he holds her. 

"I…" She hesitates and he raises an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue.

Her expression becomes more determined. "Maybe, someday, I can learn how to reattach it for you. If that's what you want?"

He studies the anxiety that appeared in her eyes when she asked that question. He never wants her to worry about upsetting him. He never wants her to fear speaking her mind.

He glances down at his stump—the stump his love doesn't mind one bit—the stump that prevents him from holding her with two hands—and then looks back up at her eyes. "I honestly don't know."

Emma nods. She understands where his hesitation and fear come from. And she knows that this isn't her choice to make—even once she figures out the magic behind such an extraordinary task. "Okay. Just… let me know. Someday. Whenever."

He smiles and nods back. "That I will."

For today, that resolution is enough. For both of them.

They finish dressing for the day, and head down to the diner hand in hand.

Time to start living.

 

_fin_


End file.
